Put to Rest

Aaron came home from school Wednesday with a finger injury.

I gasped at the swelling in the lower part of his index finger and the distortion as he opened his hand. "Can you move it?" I asked. "It looks broken."

Aaron demonstrated movement in the middle joint but noted pain in the joint to the hand. Then he explained how the he was putting a spiral on the football during gym class to send the ball down field when another student put up his arm to block the pass.

Aaron's finger tip, hit the boy's arm and hyper-extended the digit at the joint to his hand. After class ended at 11:30 AM, he went to the nurse's office. She treated Aaron's finger with ice, tape and a promise to call home before swooshing him out of her office which was swamped with the students falling victim to the flu.

By the time Aaron reach home, the swelling had doubled and his finger tip was bruised. The phone rang. The nurse apologized for her tardy call due to the unusual number of sick students sent to her office and then home. I thanked her and said we'd follow up with an x-ray at the clinic.

Our local doctor had no late-afternoon openings and referred us to UrgentCare in the nearby city. Given the current flu epidemic, I hesitated before putting through the call. Fortunately, the receptionist was able to put us in as the evening's last appointment at 7:30 PM.

That meant Aaron could attend his confirmation class from 5:30-7:00 PM and still get medical attention. We checked in at the clinic desk and stood in the vacant waiting area to avoid further exposure to H1N1 and other germs.

A nurse promptly called Aaron and brought us into an ordinary exam room. She apologized for the heavy disinfectant odor. I thanked her for doing the job noting, "THIS is the LAST place we want to be - in a clinic full of flu patients." She offered further advice for our return home. "Strip off all your clothes, WASH everything including your jackets and shower! The doctor will be with you momentarily."

As she left, I noticed a can of hand-sanitizing foam mounted on the wall for patients to use upon departure. Aaron saw it too. "Give me some of that!"

Less than two minutes later, the doctor knocked, entered and began listening to Aaron's injury story. He examined Aaron's finger, ordered an x-ray, reviewed the results and returned with a referral to the orthopedic surgeon.

"There's a suspicious spot in the joint," he said qualifying the need for a specialist. "We'll leave a message for them tonight. They'll call you first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, use Ibuprofin for pain or swelling and buddy tape your fingers. The nurse will come in to show you how."

Before 8 PM, Aaron and I were walking out the door with a roll of tape from the nurse and followed by the doctor who was dressed to leave for the night.

Aaron went to school Thursday morning to take a couple tests.

The orthopedic receptionist

gave us a mid-afternoon appointment.

That appointment also cruised by from reception to billing to the doctor. He swiftly examined Aaron's finger and decided to "Put it to Rest" for a couple weeks. "We'll put it in a splint. Treat it like a cast. Make an appointment. And come back in two weeks. Then we'll x-ray it to see if there's any calcification to indicate a fracture."

Today Aaron came home from school wishing he'd made a sign to hang from his arm. "I should've drawn a picture of my finger tip hitting an arm," he said, "Everyone's asking: Aaron! What happened?"

I nodded, "And another drawing with a doctor pointing: Put To Rest."

No Flute Playing at Monday's concert. And quite possibly,
No Deer Hunting on the Opener.